somewhere, but I haven’t managed to spot him yet. What about Ernie and Jaime? I don’t suppose they’ve found any trace of Farley Adams.”
“Nope,” Voland told her. “The last I heard, Carpenter and Carbajal were both still over in Tombstone. But I do have a little bit of good luck to report. Jaime’s in charge of the crew working Farley Adams’ mobile home at Outlaw Mountain. About an hour ago, one of his investigators opened the dishwasher. Guess what?”
“They found a dead body inside?” Joanna suggested.
“Ha, ha!” Voland said without humor. “The dishwasher was full of dirty dishes. The guy forgot to run it.”
A jolt of excitement coursed through Joanna’s body. “If he forgot to turn on the dishwasher,” she said, “does that mean he also forgot to wipe the dishes for prints?”
“You’ve got it,” Voland told her. “Once the techs finish dusting the dirty dishes, we should have a good set of prints-a complete set-to input into AFIS.”
“Great. While we’re on the subject of Alice Rogers, you might let Ernie know that I’ve spoken to Dr. Daly up in Tucson. She’s got some preliminary autopsy information for him that she’ll be faxing down to us. He’ll want to stay on top of it.”
“Daly says it’s murder then?” Voland asked.
“Looks like. The Pima County detectives continue to hang tight to their neat little theory that Alice Rogers got herself falling-down drunk and then went staggering off into that grove of cactus to die, helped along by a convenient bunch of teenaged car thieves. From what I’ve seen of Hank Lazier, he may not let the facts get in the way of his pet theory. That’s why I want Ernie and Jaime to keep after it.”
“They already are,” Dick said. “I think you’d be hard-pressed to convince them otherwise.”
Just then Joanna came to the end of the newly bladed road. Across an expanse of tinder-dry, knee-high grass she could see an old firebreak meandering off to the right along a drooping barbed-wire fence that evidently marked the boundary of the Oak Vista development. With the Blazer already in four-wheel drive, Joanna bounced easily across the intervening desert and turned north on the old dirt firebreak. It was rough, slow going. Joanna was grateful she was behind the wheel of the Blazer rather driving the lower-slung Civvy.
Half a mile north, she topped a slight rise and had to slam on the brakes to avoid hitting a white Subaru Legacy parked directly in her path. Had the circumstances been different, she might have simply assumed that the car belonged to a hiker off on a day-long jaunt in the Huachucas. Considering the ongoing problems at Oak Vista, however, Joanna couldn’t afford to ignore the possible threat of that parked vehicle. She had just told Dick Voland that the demonstrators probably wouldn’t show up at the job site much before quitting time. Now, though, she wondered if, in fact, some of them weren’t already there and wandering around undetected.
Using her radio, Joanna ran a check on the license plate. The results came back with gratifying speed.
“The car belongs to Elvira and Luther Hollenbeck,” the records clerk told her. “The address listed is 6855 Paseo San Andreas in Tucson.”
“The Hollenbecks didn’t happen to get picked up along with the rest of our crew of born-again monkey wrenchers yesterday, did they?” Joanna asked.
“No,” the clerk said. “I don’t see anything at all at that address in Tucson. No police or criminal activity, anyway. There’ve been several nine-one-one calls, but those all turned out to be medical emergencies of one kind or another. The last one was three months ago.”
While Joanna had the Records clerk on the line, she asked for any available information on Rob Evans as well. That check, too, came up empty.
After Joanna finished with Records, she sat for the better part of a minute staring at the Legacy. Although there was nothing to say that Elvira and Luther Hollenbeck were connected to the monkey wrenchers, there was nothing that said they weren’t, either.
Keeping one hand on her Colt and holding her breath, Joanna exited the Blazer and made her way to the driver’s side of the Subaru. Only when she discovered both the front and back seats to be empty did she take another breath.
She returned to the Blazer and to her radio. “Dispatch,” she said. “Try to raise Deputy Gregovich for me.”
Moments later, Terry’s voice came hiccuping through the radio. There was so much static in the transmission that he might have been in Timbuktu rather than a mile or so away. “What can I do for you, Sheriff?” he asked.
“Have you been on the firebreak this morning?”
“I’ve been up and down it two or three times. Spike and I have been going around the perimeter to make sure no one tries to come in via the back door.”
“I think someone has come in that way now anyway,” Joanna said. “I drove due west from the construction shack to where the road ends. I’m about half a mile north of there now, parked behind an empty Subaru Legacy that’s sitting in the middle of the road.”
“That’s strange,” Terry said. “I didn’t see it an hour ago when I was by there last. Anyone around?”
“Not that I can see, but I’d appreciate it if you’d come down and give me some backup, just in case.”
“You bet, Sheriff,” Terry said. “Spike and I will be there just as soon as we can.”
While she waited, Joanna got back out and walked up to the Legacy once again. In the fine dust behind the vehicle she saw several sets of footprints. All the prints seemed to have been made by the same pair of shoes. It looked as though the same person had come and gone several different times.
Joanna was crouched down examining the prints when a woman walked up behind her. “Who are you?” she asked.
The woman, a spare gray-haired lady in her late sixties or early seventies, had approached in such complete silence that Joanna almost jumped out of her skin. “Elvira?” she stammered, lurching to her feet. “Elvira Hollenbeck?”
“Yes. That’s right. Who are you? What do you want?” “My name is Brady, Sheriff Joanna Brady. What are you doing here?”
“It’s a nice day,” Elvira answered. “I’m taking a walk.”
In fact, the woman seemed so totally harmless that Joanna began to feel a little silly for having summoned Terry Gregovich. “You’re not from around here, are you?” Joanna asked.
“Tucson,” Elvira answered.
“Well, then, you may not be aware that we’re currently having some difficulties at this location. Some people object to the construction of this new subdivision. In fact, there was a near riot on this property yesterday, and there’s likely to be another one this afternoon. I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”
“All right, then,” Elvira said. “I’ll go.”
Elvira Hollenbeck was moving toward the car door just as Terry Gregovich drove up from the opposite direction. Stopping with the front of his Bronco nose-to-nose with the Legacy, the deputy jumped out. Then he opened the Bronco’s back door and Spike bounded out after him. Terry turned and started toward Joanna and Elvira, walking along the passenger side of the Subaru.
“Everything under control?” he asked.
Joanna was just nodding yes when a sudden transformation came over Spike. He stopped dead. His long ears flattened against his head. A low growl rumbled in his chest.
Terry froze too and stared down at the dog. “What is it, boy?” he asked. “What’s wrong?”
“Get him away from me,” Elvira yelled. “That dog is vicious. Get away! Shoo.”
But instead of going in the other direction, she charged toward the dog, screeching and flapping her arms. Spike stood his ground. In fact, the dog paid no attention to the flailing woman. His whole being seemed focused on the car-on the back of the car.
Joanna looked at the vehicle, too, and saw nothing. Just inside the window was a cloth shelf that seemed to conceal a small covered trunk space. Other than that, the backseat appeared to be totally empty. Spike, however, continued to growl.
Not knowing the dog well enough, Joanna turned to Spike’s handler. “What does it mean, Deputy Gregovich?” Joanna asked.
